


To Dance With the Devil

by MavenMorozova



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Harry Potter, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gen, Hufflepuff Neville Longbottom, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Long, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Mature Harry, Mentor Severus Snape, Morally Grey Harry Potter, No character bashing!!, Not Canon Compliant, POC Harry Potter, Rating will change, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Sane Tom Riddle, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slytherin Fred Weasley & George Weasley, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherin Percy Weasley, Slytherin Ron Weasley, Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter), a LOT of House Swapping let's be honest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27772915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MavenMorozova/pseuds/MavenMorozova
Summary: I apologize,the Sorting Hat replied in a voice that made Harry think he had never truly apologized before.You have…another presence within you. A second soul. A second mind. It's making this rather difficult.Harry's head spun. A second soul? A second mind?What do you mean?he asked desperately.Please just Sort me into a house. Don't send me away.The Hat was silent for a moment more, and Harry swallowed. He was getting rather thirsty. Finally, after what seemed like forever--Don't let my decision change you,the Hat whispered, before shouting out loud, "SLYTHERIN!"--Harry Potter, age 11, is a wonder-filled boy new to the glamorous, diamond-sparkling Wizarding World, whose hopes and dreams could fill a thousand jars. But Harry has never had the luck of most, and as the diamonds char to a faithless obsidian, Harry is forced to adapt and fall along with it.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 21
Kudos: 100
Collections: HP Diversity, Queer Characters Collection





	1. Hogwarts

**Author's Note:**

> This fic wouldn't exist without the wonderfulness that is Frida ([regulus-black](https://regulus-black.tumblr.com) ) who introduced me to Tomarrymort Longfic Hell and Jess ([lovleii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovleii/pseuds/lovleii)) who talked out the first ideas for this fic with me and was very supportive. I dedicate this fic to you lovely beans<3 Happy belated birthdays!
> 
> Notes about this fic:  
> \- will be very long. is not currently ship-centric but will eventually have tomarry, drarry, dramione, wolfstar, luna/pansy, and some other stuff.  
> \- there will be NO character bashing!! I love snape and Dumbledore and sirius and I wish them no harm<3  
> \- Irregular updates: you have been warned.  
> \- There will be eventual sexual content, but nothing explicit!
> 
> I decided to write this chapter in a spur-of-the-moment writing spree, finally getting the untouched idea dump out of my google docs and into something tangible with lots of house swapping (because the canon houses are...wrong), the Triwizard Tournament incl. Ilvermorny, Tom/Harry team-up, and lots more! I hope you enjoy it as much as I will!

_This was it. He was finally going to Hogwarts._

Harry Potter was ecstatic as he stepped onto the Hogwarts train, one arm curled around Hedwig's cage and the other pulling a large trunk stuffed with school books and robes, as well as the various knickknacks he had picked up with Hagrid in Diagon Ally. Well really, he was more than ecstatic. There was a healthy dose of anxiety lying there in wait as well, along with an overflowing tablespoon of leftover, pure _shock_ that he was now a wizard--and that he always had been.

He cautiously walked along the car hall until he found an empty compartment and settled himself into it, heaving his trunk onto the luggage rack and flopping down onto the cushioned bench. He supposed that he could have easily used some sort of spell to aid in his task, but he hadn't studied any yet. At least--not one that could lift heavy objects. Plus, Harry was sure that if he did attempt to do so, he would break his nose at the very _least._ And he was quite happy with his nose, thank you very much.

Still, though, the trunk was heavy, and any other person than Harry would have been able to lift it all the much easier. But Harry, who had been raised with only _just_ enough food and nothing more, who had dutifully completed every one of Aunt Petunia's tasks without complaint, did not know that lifting his trunk shouldn't have been that hard.

So there he was, breathing hard and staring out the window and the people milling out upon the platform below, when the compartment door slid open and a boy poked his head in, a worried expression on his face, which was heavily freckled and accented by a shock of thick red hair that sprouted from his head. Harry had to blink a few times at the sight of it. It was the boy from the platform, from that kindhearted redhaired family that had helped him get through the barrier! "Can I…?" he trailed off, looking uncomfortable. "Everywhere else is full."

"Of course," Harry replied, nodding quickly and moving Hedwig's cage from where it had been resting on the opposite bench and placing it carefully next to him. Hedwig gave him a pleasant sort of look, and Harry stuck his finger between two of the cage's bars, allowing her to nuzzle against it.

Ron's eyes widened as he watched the exchange. "You're so lucky," he said with unhidden envy. "I just have this old rat." He pulled an indeed sad-looking rat from his chest pocket, its fur matted and slightly lumpy. Harry made a weird face, which he hoped was some sort of a consolatory grimace. Ron seemed to understand, because he twisted his lips to the side as if to say _it is what it is_ and shrugged his shoulders. "I'm Ron Weasley, by the way."

"I'm Harry. Harry Potter," said Harry with a smile.

Ron's face immediately changed, mouth falling into a comical _o_ and eyes widening. Leaning forward, he whispered, "Are you really?" His voice was low, as if he was afraid that someone would hear them, and even though the compartment was otherwise empty, Harry felt oddly grateful for the gesture, however unintentional it was. He decided then and there that he liked Ron, this oblivious, awestruck boy with a bold personality and hair to match.

Remembering Ron's question, Harry nodded. Back in the Leaky Cauldron, he'd been so annoyed and overwhelmed that everyone had known who he was and felt this great sense of expectation from him--even from the old wandmaker Ollivander!--but here, with Ron Weasley, a boy his own age, he was in more of a mood to laugh it off, pleasantly surprised at his own relaxed state.

Ron swallowed, wonder clear in his eyes. "And you have…the…you know--?"

"The scar?"

Ron nodded, and Harry lifted his unruly bangs from his forehead to reveal a perfect lightning bolt positioned exactly over his nose.

"Wicked," Ron said, and then shook his head forcefully. Harry had a slow, creeping sense of dread that this would not be the only time this happened, but he had no qualms with it for now. Ron was only eleven after all, and so was he.

They chatted away then, laughing about Ron's rat, Scabbers ("Wouldn't mind feeding it to your owl, she looks peaky, don't you think?" he had commented), and ordering every type of candy off of the food trolly ("They really mean _every_ flavor, Harry"). Dusk was just settling as the compartment door slid open again without warning, revealing a dark-skinned girl with bushy hair that haloed around her head like a pillow, accompanied by a short boy with a roundish face behind her, who looked rather nervous, like he'd rather be anywhere but here.

"You two haven't seen a toad, have you?" the girl asked loftily. "Neville's lost his, haven't you, Neville?"

The short boy nodded, eyes flitting to meet each of their gazes for just a few seconds. "Yeah, his name's Trevor?"

Harry shook his head solemnly, though across from him, he saw Ron fighting the urge to laugh, his mouth twitching dangerously. He would have to ask the other boy about that later. "Sorry," he said lamely. "I wish we could help."

"We'll find him eventually," the girl replied not unkindly, if still with a touch of self-righteousness. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way. And this, as you know, is Neville Longbottom." Neville smiled nervously at each of them before amusing himself with the dirt under his fingernails. "And you are?"

Ron sat up from where he'd been slouching, a grin laced with just a tad of irritation on his face at being so bossed around. "Ron Weasley," he said, holding out his hand.

Hermione did not take it, and Ron deflated a bit. Harry shot him a _better-luck-next-time_ glance, hoping that would suffice.

A not-so-subtle clearing of her throat, and Harry looked back to see that Hermione was staring at him expectantly. "Oh," he said quickly. "I'm Harry Potter."

Neville visibly jumped, a surprised grin on his face, and the corner of Hermione's lips lifted as well. "Oh, I've read all about you," she said haughtily, and Harry felt the urge to be sick. What kind of response was _that?_ "You're everywhere, in _Notable Names of the 20th Century,_ among others, and your parents, too!" She practically glowed at the thought. Inwardly, Harry grimaced.

Outwardly, he put on a tentative smile and nodded awkwardly. "Oh." He hadn't ever thought that he'd be in a history book, but he supposed now that it made sense. Oh, well. He'd just have to pay better attention from now on.

And only now was Harry truly gathering how famous he really was, a just-over-one-year-old baby who had defeated the darkest wizard in all of European history. At least in recent history. Time was subjective, after all. But the fact that he, Harry, Harry who was hated by his relatives and cast aside his whole life…the fact that he was truly and undeniably famous…it was astounding. And it was just starting to sink in. He felt rather dizzy.

"Well it was nice to meet you," he said to Hermione and Neville, the latter of whom smiled briefly again.

When they had left the compartment, Harry sighed. "God. I don't want to have to go through that again."

Ron smiled ruefully. They both knew that that was wishful thinking.

"Hey, this is not important," Ron said after a moment, "but most wizarding families say 'Merlin,' or something like that."

"Huh?"

Ron sighed. "You know, instead of 'God' or something. People will say 'Merlin' or 'Circe' or the like."

"Oh," said Harry, feeling rather stupid. He _really_ should have prepared more, except that with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia breathing down his neck and adding every extra mindless task they could think of to fill up his time, he hadn't been able to get much in at all. There were the few moments stolen with a flashlight under his covers at night, but other than that, he'd been so busy. And now, he figured that the Dursleys had wanted it that way, to keep him away from magic as long as they could. The thought gave him a small spark of anger, but he pressed it down immediately. Ron hadn't done anything wrong. He just was trying to help. "So…I should only say those words?"

Ron shrugged. "I mean, I don't think it matters to much. I don't really care personally. But I know some of the blood purists sometimes use that as a clue to see who's a Muggle-born. Really sickening, I know," he added when he spotted Harry's expression. "But you never know…knowing that may help you someday. And don't you think that 'Merlin' is so much more fascinating than 'God' anyway?"

Harry laughed then, for the Dursleys had never really practiced religion at all, and he was impartial to it to begin with. "Thanks, Ron."

But he hadn't counted on meeting any of those blood purists today. He'd had enough at Diagon Ally a month ago.

For the third time since Harry had chosen his compartment, the door slid open again, this time with a thin blonde, colorless boy standing behind it. With a start, Harry realized that it was the same boy with the pale, pointed face he had seen at Madam Malkins. "What is it?" he asked, trying not to sound hostile.

The pale boy sniggered, and the two muscley goons at his sides followed him, their shoulders shaking comically. "We heard Harry Potter was on the train," he said simply, a smirk twisting his pointed features. "Thought we'd have a look, right boys?"

The goons nodded, eyes fixed on Harry's forehead where he knew his scar lay under his messy mop of hair. "Well, here I am," Harry muttered sarcastically, throwing his hands out to the side. Ron snorted beside him, and Harry couldn't help but smile a little himself. "Finished gawking?"

"Well, we wanted to introduce ourselves," the boy said smoothly, brushing over what might have been a faux pas. "My name is Draco Malfoy. And these are Crabbe and Goyle behind me." His eyes proved over to Ron, where they stayed in scrutiny. "Don't need to ask yours, clearly. Red hair…hand-me-down clothing…you must be a Weasley."

Ron's small grin and his and Harry's shared joke faded faster than it had come, and now he stared at Malfoy with pure disgust. "Watch who you're talking to, Malfoy."

"Oh, yeah? What are you going to do?"

They glared at each other for a few moments, and Harry sighed loudly. "No offense, boys, but we're rather tired. We'll see you at Hogwarts." With that, he shut the door in their face, leaving Malfoy with a stupid stunned expression on the other side of the glass.

Smirking despite himself, Harry slouched in his seat again, tapping his hand idly on his leg. "We'll be there soon, right?"

"Yeah," Ron replied. "We should get dressed for arrival." He didn't need to thank Harry. The words when unspoken between them. They were friends now.

* * *

It was dark outside when the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, lit by old-fashioned street lamps and a swinging light that Harry assumed was a lantern, but could have been a number of things, if he was being completely honest. He and Ron stood from where they'd had their noses pressed to the window, Ron brushing his robes self-consciously. "You look fine," Harry told him when Ron repeated the action for what felt like the millionth time.

Ron nodded at him gratefully, and the two of them filed into the train car's corridor along with the other students in their year, careful not to accidentally step on the hems of anyone's robes.

Outside, a familiar booming voice awaited them. "Firs' years, over here! Firs' years!"

Harry looked over to see Hagrid waving a giant lantern in the air, making his beard seem all the wilder. He led Ron over to the abnormally large man, grinning despite himself. "Oh, Harry!" said Hagrid when he spotted them. "Long time, no see! An' who's this?"

"I'm Ron Weasley!" said Ron--well, more like shouted.

Hagrid nodded sagely. "Ah, yer brothers, quite the troublemakers, thos' two."

Ron's ears pinkened, and Harry frowned. Why would Ron be embarrassed about his brothers? He didn't seem to be the uber-rule-following type, but then again, Harry really didn't know much about him. He would just have to mind his own business for now.

"All righ', firs' years, this way!" called Hagrid when all of them had gathered. He led them to a small assortment of boats, and Harry and Ron found themselves squeezed in with Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Hermione, and Neville, along with a tall boy with skin even darker than Hermione's called Blaise Zabini. Well, it was a small world after all.

"Forward!" Hagrid shouted, tapping his pink umbrella on the edge of his boat, which only he could fit in by himself. The boats suddenly lurched into movement, and the students gave a collective gasped as they shot across the water, fresh spray of the lake hitting their faces. Harry found himself laughing--he'd never done anything this fun in his life--but beside him, Malfoy looked positively horrified. "I should have gone to Durmstrang," he heard the blonde boy mutter. Harry fought the urge to laugh. The poor kid needed to lighten up and have some fun. Among other things.

The slowed when they reached a curtain of thick, dark green ivy, and Hagrid cleared his throat. "Yer abou' ter get yer firs' view o' Hogwarts," he announced dramatically, and with a flourish, parted the curtain. Harry gasped, along with Hermione and a few others. Before them stood a magnificent castle, something out of a fairytale book in nature, with tall stone walls and spires, ugly gargoyles and beautiful carved statues to match. Lights lit the windows, sending a warm yellow glow through the openings, and the whole thing seemed to glow in the darkness. There were a few oohs and aahs as they drifted closer, the boats now moving at a snail's pace.

Harry's stomach grumbled, but he pushed it down. He had just eaten a bunch of candy. But still, he couldn't wait to get inside, even just to see the architecture.

When they finally stepped out of the boats and left Hagrid, Harry with a cheery wave, there was another person waiting for them, a stern-looking woman with a pointed witch's hat whose lips were set in a thin line. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she said firmly, not unpleasantly but not with kindness either. It sat somewhere in the between area, and Harry immediately thought that she was not someone to cross. He unconsciously stood up straighter, meeting the gaze that she cast over them.

"I am Professor McGonagall, the head of Gryffindor house," the witch continued, folding her hands before her. "Right now, you are all one group of students, but when you enter the Great Hall, you will be Sorted into four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. While at Hogwarts, your house will be like your family, and your heads of house will provide you with anything you may need to succeed. Do not hesitate to contact them when you need help." She cast a meaningful glance over the group. "However, this does not mean we don't encourage you to form friendships outside your house. Contrary to popular belief, people are not defined by their houses, and family members are often not in the same house. So I hope that you will befriend others from different houses and meet people you would otherwise not have, as well as staying connected with old family." She smiled thinly and adjusted her hat. "Now, please enter the Great Hall. The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin."

Harry felt a shot of fear slice up his spine as the great doors to the Hall opened, giving a shudder as they did so. "What so you reckon we'll have to do?" he asked Ron under his breath, staring ahead into the Great Hall. "They can't kick us out, can they?" He envisioned being sent back home on the train, miserably telling the Dursleys what had happened and being laughed at…

"I dunno," Ron mumbled in reply, his voice muffled as he chewed on his fingernail. "Fred said something about fighting a troll…I don't think they'd make us do that though, do you?"

Harry shrugged helplessly, but before he could respond, they were moving, filing into the Hall and moving down the center isle, which split two tables from another pair of two. Each table had different colored flags hanging from the ceilings, emblazoned with different animals: a red and gold lion, a yellow and black badger, a blue and bronze eagle, and a green and silver serpent. They were beautiful, and Harry felt suddenly overwhelmed with joy and excitement. "I'm here," he murmured, and felt Ron patting his shoulder gently. "Yeah, mate. We're here."

"What's going on?" Harry asked. "I can't see."

Ron, with his tall, gangly frame, was able to peek over the sea of heads in front of them. "McGonagall just put out a stool with a hat on it," he reported, sounding a little disappointed. "Looks bloody ratted, if you ask me."

Harry felt a rush of relief. "So we just have to…try it on?"

It was Ron's turn to shrug, but beside them, Draco let out a derogatory laugh. "Of course, dimwits. What else would you do?" He shook his head in amusement, and Harry rolled his eyes in amusement as Ron turned red again. This was not going to go away anytime soon, Harry could already tell.

"When I call your name, please step forward," Professor McGonagall suddenly announced, drawing the attention of both the first years and the rest of the Hall. "You will sit on the stool and try on the Sorting Hat. But first, it has a song to sing to you." She stepped to the side, and from a large seamed crease in the ratty old hat's side, it began to sing.

_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your tops hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell brave of heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folk use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_And you won't get in a flap!_

_You're safe in my hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!_

When the song finished, the Hat falling still into silence once more, the Great Hall broke into a generous applause. Harry looked up at the head table to see the teachers clapping their hands together politely, several with a wistful excitement on their face. Harry supposed that they were probably remembering their own Sorting Ceremony.

When the cheering had died down, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and stepped forward, scroll in hand. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A slightly chubby girl with dirty blonde hair pulled up in pigtails stumbled nervously to the front of the group, eyes wide as she sat on the stool. Professor McGonagall gave her a comforting glance before placing the pointed Sorting Hat on her head. It sat there awkwardly for a few moments before its odd seamed mouth opened again and shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

Hannah sighed visibly with relief and made her way over to the table with the badger hangings, meeting a cheering group of students with a smile. Harry only hoped that he could be that poised when it was his turn, but there was a sick churning in his stomach that told him otherwise.

It went on like that for a few students, and Harry could barely pay attention through his own haze of anxiety. What-ifs kept flowing like a leaky tap through his mind, each scenario more horrifying and embarrassing than the last. At his side, Ron's pale skin had sickened to a faded greenish undertone that clashed horribly with his freckles. Harry felt bad for it, but he was oddly comforted that another person felt the same way as he did.

When Hermione was called, Harry's head shot up, at last recognizing someone that was called. She looked not at all as haughty as she had been on the train as she slowly walked to the stool and sat on it primly, lips pursed tightly. The Hat fell upon her head, and it rested there a few moments before releasing a final, "RAVENCLAW!"

"Makes sense," Ron muttered to Harry, though he still looked beyond frightened at sitting on a stool before the entire school, at the scrutiny of their fellow classmates and teachers alike. It was still a lighthearted comment that Harry could focus on, though, and he latched onto it tightly. It would be better to focus on the Sorting of the other students rather than dreading his own, anyway.

So he watched intently as Neville was called and sorted into Hufflepuff, joining Hannah Abbott along with Justin Finch-Fletchley, Susan Bones, and a few others. Neville shot of the seat as fast as he could, and had to bring back the Hat when he ran over to the Hufflepuff table with it still atop his head. Harry gave him an encouraging smile and a thumbs-up as Neville returned the Sorting Hat to an amused McGonagall who was trying and failing to look unamused, his face red with embarrassment.

Ernie Macmillan soon joined him in Hufflepuff, and then it was Draco Malfoy sauntering up in front of the Hall. The Sorting Hat barely had to touch his head before it released a sure exclamation of "SLYTHERIN!" and Malfoy smirked as he joined his table.

Then it was the two Patil sisters, who were sorted into Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, and finally, finally, "Potter, Harry!"

The Great Hall went still. Absolutely silent, so unmoving in its unnatural quiet that Harry could have heard a pin drop and the sound would have echoed like a firework or a gunshot. He gulped, face expressionless and frozen in place as he stumbled forward, propelled by Ron's slight shove at his back. "Harry!"

"I'm going," he muttered back, hoping he wouldn't trip over his robes as he stepped up to McGonagall and met her steely eyes. She gave him an expectant look, and quickly, Harry plopped himself onto the stool, legs pressed together and hands gripping the edges of the weathered wood. Before he could realize it, the Sorting Hat was sitting on his head. The last thing he saw was a thousand faces craning to get a good look at him before the brim of the Hat fell over his eyes, and all he could feel around him was darkness.

 _Difficult, very difficult,_ a little voice in his ear said, and Harry nearly flew off the stool in surprise. Why had no one warned him that the Sorting Hat would try to talk to him?

 _Plenty of courage, a great mind,_ the Hat went on, oblivious to Harry's distress--or more likely, simply ignoring it. _You have a stroke of brashness, Harry Potter. That alone could place you in Gryffindor. But you are more ambitious than I expected, young one, and not without a strong sense of loyalty. Yes, I very well could place you in any house…_

Harry was still and silent, unsure of what to think or say. He didn't really care what house he was put in, as long as he could make friends there. And it would be nice if Ron could be there with him, too. That way he would already know someone.

 _And there's--_ The Hat suddenly halted its monologue, leaving an unpleasant hum in its wake. Harry was sure that now it was making some odd expression with its folded "facial features," but there was no response. Actually, now that he thought about it, he was glad for the humming noise--it blocked out the whispers that would surely be emitting from the students sitting at the four tables in front of him. _Where are you, Hat?_ Harry thought with concentration, hoping that the Hat would pick it up. He was starting to sweat with both nervousness and heat where the thick rim rested on his forehead.

 _I apologize,_ the Sorting Hat replied in a voice that made Harry think he had never truly apologized before. _You have…another presence within you. A second soul. A second mind. It's making this rather difficult._

Harry's head spun. A second soul? A second mind? _What do you mean?_ he asked desperately. _Please just Sort me into a house. Don't send me away_. He couldn't go back and face the Dursleys after this again. Maybe it would appear to him as only a fever dream, and the memories of Hagrid and Ron and Hogwarts and Diagon would fade into his imagination as time passed on.

But Harry didn't want that to happen. He wanted to stay. He wanted to get another chance. _Please_ , he implored once more.

 _Shush, Harry Potter,_ the Hat immediately admonished him, and Harry attempted fruitlessly to reign in his thoughts scattering around like a wayward tornado. _You aren't going back to the Muggles--not yet. I am just trying to figure out where to put you._

_Then put me there!_

The Hat was silent for a moment more, and Harry swallowed. He was getting rather thirsty. Finally, after what seemed like forever-- _Don't let my decision change you,_ the Hat whispered, before shouting out loud, "SLYTHERIN!"

Sighing with relief, Harry drew that Sorting Hat from his hand and handed it to McGonagall with a smile. She looked stunned as she took it from him, blinking dumbly and unable to manage a smile. Harry's own grin faltered when he saw the way that the teachers at the Head Table were looking at him, as if suddenly, the great Harry Potter wasn't there, and they couldn't recognize him anymore. Harry fought the urge to smooth down his hair, to look less imposing. It wasn't working; it never did.

"Well, go sit at your table," McGonagall finally said softly, gesturing to where the Slytherins were sitting in their striped green ties, perfectly polished countenances struck dumb with surprise just like everyone else. Harry made his way over there, more self-conscious than ever. He appreciated the small smattering of applause, however, for he was sure that he would be completely mortified without it.

When he reached the Slytherins, two tall redhead boys--identical twins--moved over for him, grinning widely. "Welcome to Slytherin," they said in unison, holding out their hands. Harry shook them, trying to place their faces. He'd seen them before, hadn't they?

"Oh!" he exclaimed out loud. "You're Ron's brothers!"

"That ickle git?" the far twin asked with a sneer, though the affection was evident in his tone.

"Yeah," the closer twin replied. "I'm Fred--"

"--And I'm George!" the other twin interjected. "Pleased to meet you, Harry."

Harry grinned. "You too," he said. "Weasleys and Slytherin, huh? Ron told me that apparently you were the first major shift in the family."

George snorted. "That would be our brother Percy," he muttered, gesturing over to where an older, fifth-year boy wearing thin horn-rimmed glasses sat next to a short Asian girl, the both of them conversing intently. "Ickle perfect Prefect, Perce." He chortled as he nudged Fred, and Harry smiled too, remembering how on Platform 9 3/4, the Weasleys' mother had been so fond and proud of her son.

"She wasn't too fond of him being a Slytherin at first, though," Fred added seriously in a low voice. "Was pretty disappointed in him until he started being top of the class every year, and when he got the Prefect badge, she nearly lost it with pride."

"Yeah, I'm surprised she didn't explode when she saw it in the mail," George said. "Anyway, that redeemed him in her eyes. And now he's back to being the favorite that he was before being Sorted."

Is being a Slytherin really that bad? Harry wondered aloud, unable to voice his question, as it was now the next first year's turn to be Sorted. Finally, it was Ron's turn, and Harry craned his neck over his taller housemates to shoot his friend a consolation glance. The small gesture seemed to instill a sense of confidence in Ron, who sat down on the stool calmly and took in a deep breath.

A few moments, and then--

"SLYTHERIN!" the Hat announced in its regular booming voice. Ron's face when the hat lifted was priceless, a unique mixture of relief and pure horror as he made his way to where Harry was sitting and slid in beside him. "Hey, Fred. Hey, George."

"Ron! Our little brother is finally joining the winning team!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Yeah, not with you two in this house."

Fred pursed his lips, eyeing Ron significantly. "We've changed our ways," he deadpanned. "We're model citizens now--" He wasn't able to keep up the ruse for long, as George broke out into uncontrollable sniggering, and Fred soon joined him. "Sorry, not yet."

"The day when you two aren't troublemakers will be the day you die," interjected an imperious voice, and Harry looked over to see Percy Weasley narrowing his eyes at them in disdain. "You can believe me with that."

"We wouldn't dream of ever enacting that plan then," George muttered, rolling his eyes. "Git. Why does he have to be so morbid?"

There was a soft clinking of a fork against the glass, and the Headmaster stood--Dumbledore, Hagrid had said--his silver-white beard reaching below his waist and half-moon spectacles gleaming. "Now that everyone has been Sorted, I have a few words to impress upon your minds before we all are completely befuddled in this delicious feast. And those words are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you."

He sat down promptly, facial hair hiding his mouth, though his smile was evident in the crinkles around his eyes.

"Dad did always say Dumbledore was off his rocker," Ron mused, but Harry wasn't listening--the golden plates set out before them had just produced a great feast of foods both familiar and foreign, full tins of curry and cauliflower and split-pea soup, plates overflowing with piles of fried chicken, a small assortment of pre-made bibimbap bowls, and a thousand mouth-watering desserts: pumpkin and apple pies, lemon tarts and a simple chocolate ice cream that seemed to be perpetually frozen. There were also candies that Harry recognized from the train, as well as things he'd never seen or heard of before. "Wow," he breathed, sitting in stunned silence at the sheer amount of food before him.

And he could eat however much of it that he wanted.

It was happy, then, the Slytherins making idle chat with each other, words carefully planned and catered among the older students, while the first years were not so subtle in hiding their emotions and wants. They would learn soon enough how to navigate the intensely tangled nest of serpents and the enticing webs of spiders.

Of course, there were some who already were well-versed in the art of sly avoidance and manipulation.

"Why are there so many Weasleys at this table?" sneered a familiar voice from behind Harry's left ear, and he flinched, turning to see Draco Malfoy hovering behind him obnoxiously. "Malfoy. What are you doing here?"

Malfoy laughed unamusedly. "This is my house, Potter, even if you and these filthy blood-traitors want to taint--"

"Shut up," said Ron quietly, wand raised and pointed at Malfoy's chin. Harry's eyes widened, and he felt a spike of nerves shift up his spine. Ron wasn't properly trained; he wouldn't be able to cast a curse without hurting himself--

"Ron, what are you doing?" he whispered in a rush, almost slurred, voice. He locked eyes with his friend, hoping that somehow Ron could read his mind.

Finally, Ron swallowed and lowered his wand, and Malfoy backed off with a smirk, sitting down a ways down and across the table. "Harry, I'm sorry, I--"

"Don't apologize," Harry said quickly. "He was being terrible to you."

"Yeah, a right little shithead," Fred added bluntly. "But I wouldn't expect anything else from a Malfoy."

Harry sighed as he let Ron rant about the pale blonde Slytherin to his brothers and vice versa, wondering, just wondering… Slytherin delt in lies and cunning, not the open brash cruelty he was used to seeing from the Dursleys. He would need to fit in, to learn the ways of the snake, silent and waiting to strike. He would need to change the way he went about things--and so would Ron, if the both of them wanted to survive in one piece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think by leaving me a comment or dropping by my tumblr [nitheful](https://nitheful.tumblr.com)!


	2. Slytherin House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Welcome back! I am SO sorry for the long wait. I can't promise I'll be updating quickly, but hopefully this long of a wait in between chapters won't happen again, lol. I've been so excited by the attention this fic has seemed to garner within just the first update and I'm quite excited to share the rest of the story with you all!
> 
> Today, Harry is still getting settled in...but he has some new hurdles to face, Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape being two of them.  
> Enjoy!~

By the end of the feast, Harry's stomach was full to the brim, and he felt a wave of exhaustion settle over him, letting out a contented sigh. This had been the best meal he had ever eaten by _far;_ the Dursleys had never afforded him such delicious food. Even on Christmas, he had only ever been allowed his usual small portion of the ham and roasted vegetables.

Harry ran a hand over his middle, still lost in thought. He was almost feeling a little _too_ full. He'd have to be careful not to overindulge, lest he make himself sick.

At his side, Ron didn't seem to have the same inclination. He was _still_ eating, ravenously, as if it was his last meal on Earth.

"Slow down, little bro," Fred had even said sardonically at one point, his red eyebrows raised comically. "Don't you want to save room for dessert?"

Ron had only glared at him and taken another chunk out of his chicken thigh with an insolent glare.

"Seriously," Malfoy added, quietly and far enough away from Ron that the redhead couldn't hear it, but Harry did. "You'd think that the blood traitor was a Gryffindor from the way he acts. No poise at all."

"Poise?" grunted one of the boys beside him, large with bouldered shoulders and heavy eyebrows.

"Yes, Crabbe," sneered Malfoy, lip curling. "Poise. Grace. _Elegance_." His malice almost surprised Harry, who'd have thought that Malfoy would treat his own mates better. Apparently not.

Harry bristled at the entire exchange. It was clear that Malfoy didn't care about anyone, especially those who didn't want to follow him mindlessly. He would have gotten up and called him out now, but the blonde boy was sitting too far down the table for the exchange to not seem awkward, and it would reveal that _Harry_ had been in the wrong, eavesdropping on their conversation.

Still--he promised himself that he would talk to Malfoy later. Ron deserved that from him, at least.

Other than that, the feast came to an end without much consequence, and Harry was relieved when it was time to go, his stomach full to bursting from the small bites he'd still been trying to cram into his mouth way past being full. Not to mention all the drama that the Slytherin table had stirred up already. It was _exhausting._

As they got up from the table, Harry tugged lightly on George's sleeve. The redhead gave him a confused look initially, but his face softened when he saw the turmoil that must be manifesting on Harry's own countenance. "What is it, Harry?"

"Is it always like this?" he asked the older boy, voice quiet, but still somehow clear and perfectly audible despite the clamor of the Great Hall around them. "Like…" He didn't really know how to explain it, so he let his voice trail off, hoping George would understand.

As Harry twisted his lips in frustration, George nodded. "Yes," he said simply. "It was really hard for Fred and I when we joined Slytherin. Everything was a mind game and you never can catch a break. No one means what they say, unless it's something demeaning to begin with. And we felt like we had done something wrong." He sighed, shaking his head and throwing a leg over the bench to stand. "With Percy, him being Sorted here was natural. He understands power and people, you know? But Fred and I are--well--"

"Earnest?" Harry supplied. He didn't know the twins very well yet, but from what he could tell, they were genuinely happy around others. That made them fun people to be around. Harry wondered, then, if that perhaps played into how they would be able to use their cunning. No one expects bright and bubbly people to be less forthright about certain topics.

George nodded mischievously, as if could sense Harry's thoughts. "It's always nice to break the stereotype, though, isn't it? You'd know, after all." He winked.

 _That_ left Harry confused. What did he know? Was there something he was missing, something that all of the other Slytherin first years knew that only he lacked? Harry determined that he'd have to ask Ron about it and see if his friend could interpret the odd pseudo-riddle employed upon him by his brother.

Harry shook his head and sighed.

It had been a long day.

* * *

The Slytherin common room was much farther from the Great Hall than Harry expected it to be. Percy, who was the boys' Prefect, led them down several flights of stairs and corridors before they finally reached the dungeons. Down here, the stone walls of Hogwarts weren't so much a dull brown as much as a greenish grey, reminding Harry of the death that proceeds mold on an overripe piece of fruit. He felt odd touching them. these ancient, damp stones, where the light hadn't touched in millennia.

When they finally reached the room itself, Harry audibly sighed in relief, and Ron chuckled. "I can't believe it. Can you?"

Although he wasn't sure what exactly his friend was referring to--it could have been any number of things, from the cold dankness of the surrounding air to the long and complicated passage it would take to enter the Great Hall, Harry shook his head, indulging Ron's muted exclamation.

He was so lost in thought that he nearly tripped over the person in front of him when the group of first0years bubbled to a halt in front of what seemed to be yet another stretch of simple stone wall. As Percy cleared his throat to speak again, Harry's heart slowly began to fill with dread.

Malfoy turned around to face him with a chilling sneer.

It wasn't that Harry was _afraid_ of him, per se, but he couldn't deny that Malfoy held the power over the entire set of Slytherin first years already, if his pompous manner and already growing entourage didn't say enough. And Harry did not want to be on the opposing end of that harsh ire.

"So sorry," he apologized, grimacing as Malfoy continued to eye him coldly.

When the other boy raised a hand, Harry nearly flinched--no, he _did_ flinch, the habit so strongly ingrained in him from his entire life spent with his aunt and uncle that it came to him quicker than any other instinct. It was the instinct to hide, the instinct to defend. His body had needed a way to protect itself, and with the harsh supressal of his magic and the lack of a strong figure, running _away_ from the situation had been the only thing he could do.

But Malfoy didn't hit him, only placed that pale hand gently on Harry's shoulder, such a contrast to the dark fabric of his cloak there. "Potter. Watch where you're going."

He was about to turn away again, leaving Harry utterly confused to the docile nature of his words, or rather, lack therof, when Malfoy stilled again, eyes flitting back to him in a self-satisfied smirk. "You must be wondering what my plans are for you, Potter."

 _That_ stung. Since when had Harry been Malfoy's plaything? "Why would you think that?" he shot back bitterly.

"You half-bloods and muggles and scum," he sneered in reply, raising an eyebrow. "So easy to read. You don't belong here in Slytherin. But I'll tell you what I think." He leaned in close to Harry's ear, leaving the boy to prickle with anxiety and the tickle of Malfoy's breath. "I think I'm going to help you."

 _Help him?_ Harry wasn't sure whether he was more surprised or offended by the blonde's presumption. "I'm good, thanks," he muttered, glancing at Ron, who was keeping an eye on the exchange as he listened to his older brother give the first years password instructions. Harry felt a sudden heavy thankfulness for his new friend, who he could already tell was loyal and true, everything that Malfoy wasn't.

It almost made him wonder why Ron had been put in Slytherin along with him.

But Malfoy was speaking to him again, and Harry had to pull his eyes away from his friend to face the ice-grey eyes of the pureblood Slytherin leering over him. It irked him greatly that Malfoy was a couple inches taller than he was. Or maybe that was just his shiny black shoes, which were slightly heeled. Either way, Harry hated it.

"No, you're not," Malfoy told him, confidence leaking out of every inflection in that terrible nasally voice. "I'm going to help you, and you will appreciate it. Understand?"

"That's not going to happen," Harry replied sharply, shrugging Malfoy's hand off of his shoulder. "I don't even know what you mean."

"You will," Malfoy said with a smirk, and on that final note, he turned around again.

Harry swallowed, and keeping close to Ron, he let himself be led into the common room.

He almost gasped when they stepped inside. The room was more luxurious than anything he'd ever seen, with plush black leather sofas and armchairs surrounding a fire which had been enchanted to glow a pleasing emerald shade, a low-lit chandelier hanging from the gilded ceiling, and dark wood tables and chairs settled around the edges of the lounge area, each placed under a long window that shone out into what seemed to be a dark green water. "Where is that?" he asked absentmindedly, hearing a few others of his classmates wondering the same.

"That's the lake," Percy informed them, striding over to one of the tall windows and gesturing out into the depths. Harry was pushed along by the crowd of first years to stare out into it, and realized that with the faintly glowing orbs of something living in the distance, and the light green kelp drifting around the window's exterior, it was rather beautiful. He smiled despite himself, entranced. Slytherin may have been dark and dense, like the tight coil of a boa contrictor around its prey, but there was something enticing about it, a feeling of home, of acceptance in a way he had never had before.

It wasn't only the fact that he had a friend now, or even a possible (albeit unwanted) ally. It was something else, a call to _Harry_ specifically, the voice of a distant memory he couldn't quite remember. A family he had never known.

Just as he felt the wonder of his surroundings, however, it was accompanied by an acute fear that had always ached in his bones. Harry had never been the favored one, and that had been perfectly fine with him. He wouldn't have _wanted_ to have been fussed over by Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia anyway.

And once he had stepped into Diagon Alley, pushed his unruly bangs aside and gotten stares from what seemed like every angle, prying eyes leeching over his shoulder and simply head-on, Harry had firmly decided he wanted to avoid as much attention as he could. Even when strangers' leers had lingered on him as he had made his way anxiously through Gringotts, he'd been able to push everything away and focus on the moment.

The issue right now wasn't that he was not getting attention, however. Harry still felt the stares as he followed his classmates-to-be through the common room, each pair of eyes a small weight on his chest. He forced himself to stand up straighter, to lift his chin.

Because _this?_

This was not the hopeful expectation of the patrons of the Leaky Cauldron. This was not Tom the bartender furiously shaking his hand until it was about to fall off or Hagrid's jovial awe of him and his parents.

No, this was more akin to the haunting visage of Ollivander. _Terrible, but great,_ the old silver-haired wizard had said. He'd been talking about Voldemort, of course, but Harry wasn't so sure that it was as simple as Ollivander had tried to make it seem, with his vague floating answers to Harry's questions and shiver-inducing smile.

 _That_ was what the Slytherins looked like as Harry disappeared up the spiral stairs to the first year boys' dormitory, head almost turned around his head to meet their challenging gazes. He had never imagined that there could be so much emotion in one stare; in those silent students, the students who were judging him without any shame, he saw surprise--that was the most prominent of them all--and he saw unbridled chaotic delight, so much different than the respectful hope of the past few weeks.

But in the eyes of a few, there was something else, too. _Fear._

_Why would they be afraid?_

Harry swallowed and turned away, grasping Ron's hand.

"What is it, mate?" his friend asked him quietly, seeming to sense the newly minted tension in the dank atmosphere of the dungeons. "I mean, you don't have to tell me…"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "I don't know."

* * *

After they had settled into their dorms, Percy bade them return to the common room so he could lay down some house rules. ("He never told me about this!" Ron grumbled. "But what can you expect--it's Perce after all.") Harry listened intently as the older redhead monotoned out some of the basics: curfew, for one, magic in the halls, for another.

He didn't want to mess one single rule up. Things were already bad enough with the entire Slytherin house baiting their breaths in his presence and acting as if he was either something worthy or horrible. Maybe both. Either way, it was something he couldn't understand--something that though they knew, he didn't think they did either. Understand, that is.

His thoughts were a mess as Percy finished up with a flourish of his wand, ending a pretty curl at the end of the words he'd written in the air. "Any questions?"

Harry, along with the others, shook his head and pressed his lips together.

"Good!" Percy replied primly, waving his wand. As he did so, the words he'd written shifted to the side and sunk into the wall behind them, implanting there with a green glow. "These will be here for the first week," Percy added as way of explanation. "After that, it's up to you to know what and what not to do. Now. About student resources."

Beside him, Ron let out an irritated groan. Harry felt a slight itch at hearing it; they were so new to this world and Ron was already mocking school? He supposed that Ron had been around wizarding society his whole life, but he couldn't help the prickle of annoyance as his fellow Slytherin first years shifted around impatiently.

"Professor Snape is our head of house, of course. You can go to him any time with questions or concerns you have. I assure you, he is qualified and not as intimidating as he lets on to the other Houses."

"What's that mean?" piped up Malfoy.

Percy's lip twitched. "It only means that we all must do what must be done to protect what is ours. And for Professor Snape, that means protecting us." His voice softened as he said it, though he still did not smile. Harry was unsure if Percy Weasley _could_ smile at this point, but he'd only just met him, after all.

"I will take it from here," came a cold voice suddenly from what seemed like the shadows lingering in the corner of the room. A man stepped from them, whom Harry thought he might have seen from the staff table. He was tall; height accentuated even further by the slight platforms of his boots, which were mostly hidden by his thick, black, almost batlike cloak, where buttons fastened down it like a waistcoat. It was unlike anything Harry had seen a man wear before, but he rather liked it. It was almost the antithesis of what Dumbledore had been wearing at the feast, the faded black a stark contrast to the swirled blues and purples of the headmaster's robe, which had been bespeckled with golden shimmering stars that seemed to lift from the fabric.

And yet…they were both so foreign to Harry, and he found himself overwhelmed. It was almost as if they were wearing dresses, something that Aunt Petunia had always been so fond of ridiculing when they had gone around town and seen a man wearing makeup or a blouse instead of a formal dress shirt. She had taken Harry and Dudley by their little hands and led them away with a furious glare in her sour eyes, shooting nasty glances at the so-called "offending" person every few seconds. Her favorite place to do this had been at the grocery store, and a perfect opportunity waited for her in the long isles preceding checkout.

Harry remembered those incidents now with a sour taste in the back of his throat, something bitter, like unripe grapes. He wasn't so far removed from the situation, and yet, with just seeing the wizarding world as it was, he could not deny that here, everything was different. _All_ the men dressed in robes, and it was not _masculine_ or _feminine;_ it simply _was_.

And no one gave a bloody fuck. The thought made him smile.

"What is so funny, Mr. Potter?"

Harry started, eyes flying upward to meet the cold stare of Professor Snape. The man in question slid through the crowd of first years toward him, and against the sea of black and green and silver, the paleness of his gaunt face stood out. It was a face haunted with the memory of sadness, lines transversing his forehead and down beside his lips. They weren't smile lines, but rather those of a grimace.

"Nothing," Harry replied, grateful that his voice didn't shake. He had initially jumped at Snape knowing his name; but then again, everyone did. And yet…there was more to Snape's sharp recognition of him than the fame of Harry's face. There were the fear and excitement of the other Slytherins, perhaps, but something much deeper rooted as well, emotions that warred with each other. A cloud of feeling that Harry couldn't decipher.

Under the intense stare, Harry swallowed. "I was just admiring your cloak, sir." He decided to opt for the truthful route, no matter how ridiculous it seemed.

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Just as arrogant as I expected," he muttered under his breath, just low enough so that only Harry could catch it. "But we will have to make due."

With a cough that cleared his throat, the head of Slytherin House retreated to the front of the group, cloak swishing as he did so, and leaving a confused Harry in his wake. "As Weasley informed you all, I head not only the organization of this house, but also its resources. There are copies of textbooks, robes, and broomsticks by appointment, as well as student spending stipends for third years who wish to visit Hogsmeade but lack the funds to do so."

As he spoke, the room was held in silence, even the older years that lounged behind them in the common room's chairs by the fire. Snape had that presence, a slow, measured voice that made every person cling to his attention and stand still as they waited for him to finish. It was no different now, even amongst mere eleven-year-olds.

"If you need any of these extra materials, you can inform me of it when we have our private conferences, which each student must sign up for each semester. There is no need to feel ashamed for what you do not have monetarily, and I will do my best to support you with the funds Professor Dumbledore has allotted me. And, of course," he added with a tilt of his chin upwards, "if any bullying or unjust talk about any student's home or financial situation occurs, I will know. And you will face the consequences." His face hardened as he spoke, a layer of stone hiding what might have been the bitterness of years.

A few students down, Malfoy's frown deepened, but the platinum-haired boy had the sense to say nothing. It was apparent enough, what he was thinking, however, at least in Harry's mind. It had been the same with the other kids at his junior high school, the ones with freshly-pressed shirts and slacks each day, soft hands that looked as if they'd never done anything further than gripping a pencil, a smooth expression of superiority that graced their countenances. That was just it--Malfoy reeked of wealth, and not just that, but a _long line_ of it. Being wealthy was ingrained into their identity, and they had to make it everyone else's business.

Harry could see it in the way Malfoy held his head upon his shoulders, the sleek oil (or potion? he wondered) that was gelled into his hair, and the sparkling clasp that held together his cloak, matched with a silver stud earring on one ear that Harry hadn't noticed back on the train.

As much as he despised the boy, he realized, he couldn't deny that Malfoy was genuinely pleasing to look at. It was a little bit frustrating, but he could deal with that small issue. After all, Ron was pleasing to look at, too. And so was Professor Snape.

 _But no,_ his mind whispered back. He couldn't put a finger on _what_ it was. And it was not the same.

Growing more irritated by the second, Harry averted his gaze and turned his attention back toward the professor. Snape was speaking again. "Sign ups for these appointments will be--" he brushed his wand through the air and a piece of faded paper that was the same material as Harry's Hogwarts letter, and a quill flew into the room, "--recorded on this parchment, which will be posted beside the common room door."

With another swish, the parchment flew through the air behind the group of first years and pasted itself against the wall in an organized fashion. Harry stared at it, eyes trained on the paper as it traveled over his head. He noticed that a few others had done the same, but the majority of the Slytherins seemed to be used to such displays of magic, Ron included. Slightly disappointed, Harry turned his attention back with a deflation of his chest. He already felt so out of place for being _Harry Potter;_ it only made it worse that he wasn't used to the natural ways of his new world either.

Next to him, Ron patted his shoulder, sensing his frustration. "It's alright, mate. We'll learn it soon."

"We?" Harry asked him in a hushed voice. Professor Snape was still talking over them, droning voice capturing the attention of the students around them and away from Harry and Ron.

At that, Ron shot him an incredulous look. "What--you didn't think I already know all this, did you?"

Harry felt his face heat. So that was that then. He might not be _so_ behind after all. "'Course not," he replied casually, though Ron only gave him a doubting smirk in reply.

"Weasley. Potter."

The voice that came over them was still; quiet yet commanding. "Yes, sir?" Harry and Ron asked in tandem. Harry could already feel the grimace creeping over him. Professor Snape had already called him out once, and though he'd done his best to pay attention, it seemed as if his efforts had been in vain.

"So you think you already know the code of Slytherin then, do you?" Snape asked softly.

"No, sir," Harry replied quietly. Beside him, Ron quickly shook his head, eyes wide with nerves.

"So what were you discussing, then? Enlighten your fellow students."

Harry sucked in a breath. It was barely a day into Hogwarts and he'd already been called out _twice…_ and not even in class! "I was just hoping to learn the trick with the paper, sir." He did his best to sound polite, unobtrusive.

But Snape's lip only curled into a sneer. "It is parchment, not paper, Mr. Potter. And neither was that charm a 'trick.' A 'trick' is a muggle's term for pulling a rabbit from a hat, not true magic. You would be wise to remember that."

Harry swallowed.

"One more outburst, and you will find yourself in detention," Snape told him, eyes roving the group to make sure the class was listening to his tongue-lashing. "And you haven't even received your schedule yet. What a pity that would be for our new celebrity to find himself already with troublemaking records on his hands."

"Yes, sir," Harry said. He could feel embarrassment worming its way up his stomach, feel the burn of the others' eyes on him as they now regarded him with amusement, and to his horror, some with pity. He could handle amusement, perhaps (he'd faced much worse of the sort with Dudley's gang), but _pity?_ He would tolerate anything but that.

He resolved, then, that he'd have to work twice as hard to dispel the emotion from the Slytherins' gazes.

 _Especially_ from Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the Draco-Harry drama begins...  
> (Also, if you didn't notice, I couldn't help but not-so-subtlely burn JKR there at one point with the gender norms thing haha.)
> 
> thanks for reading:D let me know what you think by leaving a comment or dropping by my Tumblr [nitheful](https://nitheful.tumblr.com/)!


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